Reflection
by Draconian Elflord
Summary: This is a little introspective poem from Kenshin's POV. Occurs before RK, when he vows never to kill, never to be the Battousai again. Rating for violence and angst. Please R+R, don't be cruel


Elflord: Hey, listen up! I've got something to say to y'all. It's a little piece called "I don't own Rurouni Kenshin." *strums guitar* Goes a little something like this . . . *strum* I don't *twang* own Rurouni Kenshin *strum strumedy twangedy* and none of the characters either *TWANG* Oh, I wish it were so *strum-strum-strum* But it ain't *twange Twangedy twang twang strum* so I just wrote this lil' song *TWAAAANG* so you don't sue me . . . *lil' strum* . . . thank you.  
  
A/N: This fic, like all of my fics, does not take plot as ORTHODOX. I use most of the plot of which I believe supports the fic, but I am not afraid to change other parts according to my own interpretation to better support the fic. Please do not flame for plot reasons.  
  
Reflection  
  
Reflection . . .  
  
Who are you to me?  
  
How your face changes . . .  
  
Once you were a young boy  
  
Small and afraid  
  
Lost and alone  
  
Without a guide, without a home.  
  
I did not recognize you as my own.  
  
I did not recognize anything but fear.  
  
Alone, I reveled in my sweet lament  
  
And not knowing what I sang of  
  
Trembled in the sight of cannibalism;  
  
Men slaughtering other men  
  
Women raped, children beaten and killed  
  
Killing for no reason save for bloodlust  
  
Was that where I learned this madness first?  
  
Perhaps so.  
  
Shinta I was called . . . but no  
  
Slave . . . that was my name.  
  
So he gave me a new one.  
  
Kenshin: a good name;  
  
A warrior name: a Samurai.  
  
Kenshin . . .  
  
How that shadow of a memory haunts me.  
  
Was I ever really that image in the pond  
  
Of a young teen full of young foolish ambitions?  
  
Was I ever a truly a faithful student,  
  
Learning from him,  
  
Becoming stronger, wiser, more enlightened at his guide,  
  
Living every day like a private heaven?  
  
Did I lie in the tall grass after a day's rigors  
  
My body and mind wearied from the day's labor  
  
Watch the stars until midnight  
  
And drift softly away?  
  
But that, too, would not be forever.  
  
Nothing lasts that would be beautiful.  
  
No, I thought I knew the right way;  
  
My duty to aid the people.  
  
He told me no.  
  
How arrogant and stupid I was;  
  
Fourteen thinking I wiser than he.  
  
But I couldn't see it.  
  
I left him. He let me.  
  
Kyoto drew me  
  
Revolution seething in my heart  
  
Rebellion burning in my ears  
  
Upheaval boiling in my soul.  
  
They taught me how to fight,  
  
Taught me to kill  
  
Guilty and innocent alike  
  
Without emotions,  
  
Without guilt,  
  
Without a second thought.  
  
I slept after massacres,  
  
Supped after bloodbaths,  
  
Took women with red hands.  
  
Hitokiri Battousai . . . manslayer  
  
That is what they baptized me  
  
A fitting name for what I had become,  
  
For what I am.  
  
And now, five years later  
  
When the bloody road to power has been won  
  
Sins committed now legends  
  
I look into these ashy waters  
  
To see if you, reflection,  
  
Are the Battousai, the hero.  
  
No . . .  
  
You are the Battousai:  
  
The monster, the demon,  
  
Psychopathic creature of midnight carnage.  
  
Carnivorousness like a disease  
  
Has infected my soul.  
  
I am the inhuman, the wolf,  
  
My slitted yellow eyes that of the hunter.  
  
Oh, my mirror image,  
  
Where is Shinta the slave?  
  
Where is Kenshin the student?  
  
Gone forever, not a sign left.  
  
Here stands the Hitokiri Battousai . . .  
  
Manslayer.  
  
And in beholding Battousai, the monster,  
  
I know the choice I must make.  
  
The road is open before me,  
  
My chance for redemption.  
  
I look at my bloody sword  
  
The memories of its possessors fresh in my mind  
  
And I know what to do.  
  
Yes, I will transform once more  
  
Crawl into my chrysalis and emerge again.  
  
A new sword in my hand  
  
One that will never take a life  
  
From a hand that will never bring death,  
  
I will take that road, that escape.  
  
And by the Harvest's moon above me  
  
Full and red in the September sky  
  
I raise the new sword and vow  
  
To protect the innocent, to never kill  
  
As long as I live.  
  
I will become a wanderer, a drifter,  
  
Using my skills to protect those who need it,  
  
Serving justice wherever I can  
  
That such repentance will save me.  
  
I will travel far and wide,  
  
Find what I have lost  
  
Revive my lost soul from its prison  
  
Begin my life afresh.  
  
And maybe, just maybe  
  
I will recognize you again one day.  
  
THE END 


End file.
